


Data

by wearitcounts (Sher_locked_up)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon What Canon, First Kiss, Inexperienced Sherlock, M/M, Protective John, i don't know anything about canon, this is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9492164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sher_locked_up/pseuds/wearitcounts
Summary: Sherlock pushes his forehead hard against John’s and their noses are just nudging one another’s, and John can taste Sherlock’s breath as it pushes inside John’s lips, humid and slightly sweet as he breathes, “More data.”





	

“Are you going to kiss me or not,” Sherlock demands, petulant even as he sits in just pants and his second-best dressing gown, belt untied and sides deliciously thrown open.

“Is that… are those _bees_ , on your pants?” John squints, stands to the left of the sofa, deliberately keeps himself just out of Sherlock’s reach.

Sherlock ignores him and scoots forward so he can grab at the belt loops of John’s trousers. “If you don’t sit down _this instant_ —” He pulls hard and John finds himself tipped over Sherlock, grabbing at the back of the sofa to keep from squashing him—“I’m going to change my mind.”

“No, you won’t.” It’s been weeks, now, of careful cuddling and hand-holding, of Sherlock draping himself over John like a blanket whenever they watch telly, of tentative touches and gentle kisses pressed to unruly curls, and though John thinks he could very possibly be blissfully content with just what they have, he also certainly isn’t going to turn down the request for more.

John arranges himself on the sofa, pulling one leg up to drape behind Sherlock and bending the other at the knee to create a vee of space between his thighs. He pats the small expanse of leather there and says, “Come on, then.”

Sherlock scrambles in a way that is adorable in its lack of dignity. He throws his right leg over John’s bent one, and wraps the other around John’s hip, fitting it between John and the back of the sofa. There is still some space between them, but only a little, and John lifts one hand to cup Sherlock’s jaw as the other slides around the nape of his neck. “Ready?”

“Just do it already!”

“Sherlock, I just want to be sure—”

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Sherlock bristles before crashing forward onto John’s mouth in an unpractised fall that smacks their noses and teeth together painfully.

“Mmph!” John attempts to yelp, but it’s muffled by Sherlock’s lips covering his own, and he decides the only way to get anywhere is to kiss back, because Sherlock’s not going anyplace anytime soon. He uses his hands to adjust the tilt of Sherlock’s head, backs away only enough to ease up on the pressure, and begins to slowly lick and nibble at Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock lets out a soft little moan of surprise, and because the man is a genius, takes fewer than four seconds to pick up what John’s laying down.

And then it’s good, it’s better than good; it’s electric, the soft wet velvet of Sherlock’s lips and tongue moving over and inside and against John’s, and Sherlock’s making wonderful little keening noises, just the best sounds John’s ever heard, and long arms wind themselves around John’s neck and pull his body even closer to Sherlock’s.

John ups the ante a little, pushes Sherlock’s lips wide open with his tongue and takes the full bottom one into his mouth, sucks hard and then nips, dots the sides of Sherlock’s mouth with suckling little kisses before he offers his top lip the same. Sherlock groans at this, and then John notices he’s moving a little, his arse is writhing against the couch and his hips are shifting back and forth, the slippery fabric of his dressing gown against the slick leather sliding his pelvis closer to John’s. John grins against Sherlock’s mouth and pulls him close, and Sherlock inhales so sharply John feels the breath leave his own throat.

Sherlock is hard, he’s hot and thick and throbbing against the inside of John’s thigh, and John cants his hips a bit just to feel Sherlock’s cotton-covered cock twitch at the friction, and Sherlock whimpers.

Finally, with a last lingering lick over John’s bottom lip, Sherlock pulls away. His face and neck are flushed the prettiest shade of pink and John can’t help but wonder where else on Sherlock’s body he’d find that particular rosy hue, and his hair’s all mussed from John’s fingers, and his eyes are glassy and dark and wide with lust.

“Well?” John asks.

Sherlock sucks on his own kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Mm,” he responds.

“Good, yeah?”

“Very.” He looks lost in thought for a moment, and it takes John by surprise when he’s suddenly tugged forward by huge handfuls of his smoggy grey jumper. Sherlock pushes his forehead hard against John’s and their noses are just nudging one another’s, and John can taste Sherlock’s breath as it pushes inside John’s lips, humid and slightly sweet as he breathes, “More data.”

John obliges him, knows from the heat of Sherlock’s mouth and press of Sherlock’s body against his own that he’ll never stop obliging him, pulls everything he can from between Sherlock’s lips and tastes it, savours it, pushes it back inside to let Sherlock do the same. He’s hard now, too, hard and dizzy and beatifically in love with his arrogant, impossible flatmate, and he can’t even care about how dangerous that is because Sherlock’s hands are running up and down his thighs, the wide span of his fingers circling them, thumbs digging into the sensitive flesh on the insides.

John pulls away this time, but then rests his forehead against Sherlock’s again as he gets his breath back. “I think,” he says, and his voice sounds low and guttural and not at all like he has any sort of control, and as Sherlock’s never done this before he thinks somebody ought to, so he clears his throat and starts again. “I think we need a moment.”

Sherlock pushes him back, tugs and arranges John’s body and limbs so he’s lying supine on the sofa with Sherlock draped over him. John’s legs lie straight out and Sherlock’s are bent, and Sherlock’s torso is curved just enough to allow for this, to allow his head to tuck into John’s shoulder and his nose and mouth to nuzzle John’s neck and his legs to curl around John’s.

Sherlock’s thigh is nudged up against John’s erection, but only slightly, and it isn’t doing any harm, and the soft satin of Sherlock’s dressing gown envelops them both in a silky warm cocoon, and John lets out a long and drowsy sort of sigh.

He feels Sherlock smile against his neck and kiss him once, twice on the tender spot behind his ear before saying, “Of course, John. We’ve all the time in the world.”


End file.
